Perchance Encounter
by Hazel Liebovsky
Summary: A chance meeting in a crowded train station in Paris. Legato AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, I know it's not Legato, but I'm on it, told you it'd take time. And work's kicking my ass, too. This is a little one-shot that I've had in my head for a while, a kind of AU of Legato (which is an AU itself? AU-ception?) in which Shizuma and Isis would have met in different circumstances/at different stages of their lives. It's not going to grow into a full-blown story, and truly it was born out of sheer rage at the French Train Transport. FUCK YOU GUYS. I hate you.**

 **They've been striking for a fucking month two days each week, and the next two month. I live one hour away (by train) from the city where I work and due to the strike, I've been crashing at my mom's two days a week just so I can actually go to work. I can't. I'm fucking done.**

 **Anyways. Enjoy, tell me what you think!**

* * *

Perchance Encounter

By Hazel Liebovsky

* * *

Voices filled the station; they mingled and became a single undecipherable hum somewhere above Shizuma's head. The uncomfortable chair of the lounge kept digging in the middle of her back, no matter how many times she shifted positions. The book in her hands did nothing to alleviate her boredom or ease her mind. Her frustration was teetering on annoyance. It was definitely not a good day.

" _Due to unforeseen circumstances, the Eurostar train n°6932 to London, initially scheduled for four thirty pm…."_

In perfect synchronization, everybody froze. A few heads looked up uselessly, at the screens, waiting with batted breath, listening to the sultry robotic voice that would pronounce their sentence.

"… _will be delayed by one hour and fifty-five minutes…"_

A collective sigh of despair with a few chosen curses filled the station before the passengers emerged from their state of torpor and walked away or went back to staring at their phones. Throwing years of Miatre's severe manner teaching away, Shizuma rolled her eyes and sighed, albeit quietly. In France, do as the French.

 _Wonderful._

Great.

Just great. And to think she had booked a train home instead of flying (which would have been faster), to avoid the aircrew strike going on, only to find herself in the middle of another strike that was paralyzing train transportation in its entirety. They _had said_ it would _not_ affect cross borders, but obviously it did. On this side, at least. 'Unforeseen circumstances' was just a metaphorical middle finger wrapped in fancy speech.

And it wasn't like she could postpone her departure, she had a recording the following morning. Shizuma started reading again but gave up after going over the same paragraph for ten minutes. The pianist was fuming. Unable to focus, she stood up, nodding back to the elderly couple who took her place. Slinging the canvas bag on her shoulder, she wandered away aimlessly.

 _Two hours to kill._ What to do now?

Grabbing a coffee did not sound appealing, she was not hungry, taking a stroll outside would be pointless since it was raining… she walked by the lone forsaken piano and turned around sharply, eyes lighting up.

 _Bingo._

Small mercies, at least. It was not really work, if she played what she wanted, right? Shizuma put her bag on the piano bench next to her before settling. Her fingers drummed rapidly on the keys to make sure the instrument was tuned. A couple of persons stopped for a second to glance curiously at her when they heard the notes before walking away. Satisfied with the piano's state, Shizuma began her meticulous warm up.

Slow, melancholic notes filled the station, they were almost shy, the sound muffled by both the pianist and the hum of voices around her. Shizuma did not want to attract attention, she was only killing time, not giving a performance. Her eyes closed on their own, fingers moving faster than her brain could register what they were playing. Chopin's nocturnes. _Fitting_ , she smiled to herself. Somehow, she always found herself coming back to him. The pianist had been recording a few of Shumann's chosen pieces, for her next album and she was positively _done_ with it now. But Chopin? Never. She would never get tired of him.

Despite her best efforts to keep it on the down low, her playing had garnered attention, slowly but surely. Passersby stopping to listen for a couple of minutes, people staring from their chairs, even the chatters quieted down a little. Some bystanders did not waste a minute to take out their phone and start filming her. Shizuma had half a mind to just stop playing and leave, but it would be rude to interrupt the piece in the middle of it. Poor Chopin did not deserve such affront.

The last notes rang like a desperate plea, her little finger and thumb hovering over the keys. The whole station was immersed in an atmosphere of quiet awe. It took a full ten seconds before her ephemeral audience clapped. She exhaled slowly, emerging from her little bubble to give a polite smile to the sizeable circle around her, before checking the watch on her wrist.

" _Excuse me…?"_

The interruption had come from her left. Lifting her head, Shizuma was met with a woman, around her age it seemed, standing just a foot away from the piano, an easy, if a bit apprehensive smile on her lips.

" _Would you mind if I played with you?"_ The stranger pointed at her violin case, all smiles and shining blue-yellow eyes.

She was beautiful. _Yes, please._

"Yes." Her mouth worked faster than her brain. The other woman's smile faltered until Shizuma realized what she had implied and spoke again. "I meant…" switched to French. " _No. I don't mind. Please do."_

The stranger smirked and nodded, crouching down to open her case.

 _Yes. Please._

It had been quite a while since anyone had short-circuited her brain and elicited such a reaction. Not since Nagisa, five years ago. Nagisa who had (amiably) broken things off just before graduating from Miatre. Realizing they were looking for different things, taking different paths. Shizuma understood. She was not especially happy about it, but she understood. Nagisa who, last time she heard, was enjoying college life with her roommate/girlfriend/stalker/soulmate Tamao. Shizuma understood. She was not especially happy about it, but she understood.

They were still friends on Facebook. It was alright, really.

Besides, she could never hate Nagisa, even if she wanted. The girl had helped her move on from Kaori's death and for that, Shizuma would be eternally grateful.

The pianist had not stayed celibate for long after that, because, _of course_. Nothing serious, shallow dates here and there because why the hell not? She was free of grief, she was young, and she was single. It had nothing of the heaviness and desperation of her in-betweens days at Miatre, when Kaori's ghost was still looming over her like a black cloud above her head. It was _fun_. Shizuma liked _fun_.

" _Ready?"_ The stranger stood up, eyes still twinkling as she finished tuning her violin. Shizuma nodded, straightening her stance, hands back on the keys. _"Any preferences?"_ The violinist said with a smile that was all white teeth and canines.

 _Yes. You. Please._

Shizuma answered with a swoon worthy smirk of her own. Two could play this game. She shrugged. _"Classical?"_

" _Color me surprised."_ The woman chuckled. _"How about… classical with a twist?"_

Shizuma's brows knitted in confusion. _With a twist? What twist? "I don't…"_

" _Improvise. Start on something and I will follow."_

 _Oh._ Oh. That she could do. She could do very well. Shizuma looked back at the violinist. The real question was, could _she_ follow. They had been complete strangers five minutes ago, Shizuma did not know her level, that was a recipe for disaster.

" _So?"_ The violinist asked, eyes shining with a self-assurance that was bordering on smug.

 _Yes. Yes. Please._

Shizuma glanced at the piano, laughing. _"Fine."_

She racked her brain for a second, scrolling through the classical repertory that had grown exponentially since she was four years old, before remembering a little game she had played with her classmates and friends at the Royal College a couple of years ago. The principle had been easy. They quizzed each other twice on mundane things and the _quizzee_ had to answer by playing a music piece. It was good exercise that allowed them to play and brush off their musical knowledge while learning about each other, all at the same time.

Twenty questions for classical nerds.

Shizuma's two questions had been:

 _Song to wake up to._

Debussy's Reverie.

 _Obviously._

And:

 _Song seduce with._

She smirked.

Her fingers sauntered over the keys in a rapid cadence, startling the other woman a little. _Classical with a twist, uh?_ She let loose, leaving her hands reinterpret the overture. Short and sharp notes going crescendo, challenging the other as she left only a couple of clues to figure out what she was playing.

Their eyes met briefly, the violinist's sparkling knowingly in realization.

Shizuma ran her index and middle fingers from one end to another before replaying the overture again, with less _twisting_ this time to let the other woman join in. Piano and violin engaged in a tango, each taking turns in leading, one instrument enhancing the other, letting it go before drawing it back. A game of push and pull, both of them perfectly in sync. The notes twirling around each other like dancing partners, predators assessing their prey.

Whistles rose from the audience around them, Shizuma looked up briefly, seeing smiles and camera lenses focused on both of them. _So much for not drawing attention_. She played, nevertheless, sporting a luminous grin as she kept improvising along the violinist next to her.

Their spontaneous duet came to an end, soon followed by a loud applause that filled over the station's noises and hums.

Shizuma laughed quietly, a little sheepish as she turned around on the bench and bowed a little. The other woman scratched her cheek in embarrassment. The cheering crowd was making her feel awkward. She bowed her head at them before meeting Shizuma's eyes. _"Thank you for humoring me."_

The woman shook her head. _"Thank you for joining…"_

She wanted to say more but her sentence was cut halfway by the obnoxious station music followed by the sultry robotic voice announcing a train's arrival.

" _TGV n°16842 bound to Marseilles-Saint-Charles has entered the station. Platform E."_

The violinist winced apologetically. _"Woops. That's me,"_ she crouched down again to put her instrument back in its case and stood up.

Shizuma closed her mouth and nodded. She had completely forgotten where she was for a bit. A station. With trains. Leaving trains. Her chest tightened uncomfortably, and the feeling was not welcome. She stood up as the other reached with her right hand to shake hers.

" _I hope yours comes soon,"_ she smiled.

Shizuma looked at her watch. _"Twenty minutes,"_ she sounded as surprised as she felt. Between her solo performance and the improvised duet, she had wasted a good hour and a half. _"Hopefully."_

" _Hopefully,"_ the other repeated with a knowing look.

The crowd around had quickly dissolved once it was obvious the musicians were done. A few were still around, giving them smiles and thumbs up before walking away. The strike meant the few trains available were raided, passengers moving like a raging horde to get in. Both women looked at the (sad) spectacle before them for a while before Shizuma caught herself and pointed towards it with her chin.

" _You should…"_

Blue-yellow eyes met hers, a bit startled. _"Oh, yeah. Yes_ ," she smiled without showing her teeth, the dimple on her cheek deepening.

Shizuma had not noticed it before. _Cute._

 _Yes, please._

" _Safe travel_ ," they blurted at the same time and chuckled.

" _So…"_ the violinist looked at her feet, breathed through her nose and glanced up. _"Goodbye and thank you again."_

Shizuma acquiesced. _"Good luck,"_ she pointed at the mass of people already crushing each other and yelling. _"Try to stay alive."_

It made the other laugh, which she was really proud of. The woman winked. " _Promise._ "

It was the last thing the musician said before disappearing in the crowd of aggravated passengers. Shizuma left, walking back to the lounge to sit down and wait. The small smile on her lips refused to leave.

 _Talk about chance encounters…_

She did not believe in fate much (how was it fate for someone like Kaori to die so young?), but maybe the meeting with that stranger was some karmic intervention for her good deeds? She could not deny it had been nice. And fun. Shizuma liked _fun_.

 _Bah!_

She wanted to laugh at her own absurdity. What were the chances of meeting that stranger again? Next to none.

Especially when she remembered she did not know her name.

Her smile disappeared suddenly.

They had not introduced themselves.

 _Great._

Shizuma scowled.

* * *

 **Had a lot of fun writing this, at least.**

 **They play Libertango together. I first heard it 3 years ago, four hands playing, pianist Khatia Buniatishvili and I don't remember who else but shit. That girl is mesmerizing when she plays. Anyways, yep. Might add another chapter to make it a two-shot if you guys are interested.**

 **(Can you believe Strawberry Panic is 12 years old? Holy Moly.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Remember when I said it would be a one-shot?**

 **lol.**

 **It will be a three-shot.**

 **Still working on Legato, I'm 10 pages in, and once you read it, you'll understand why I had to write this fluffy piece at the same time. Plus, it's genuinely fun.**

 **Next (hopefully last) chapter will be out after Legato's new chapter.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

Perchance Encounter

By Hazel Liebovsky

* * *

 _Would you mind if I played with you?_

 _Improvise._

 _Thank you for humoring me._

Shizuma let her limbs being manipulated as her mind replayed the words. It was always during quiet moments like this that she found herself coming back to that encounter, frustration rising at the lost opportunity.

"What's with the long face?"

Chikaru's soft voice drew Shizuma out of her musing. She hadn't even realized she was scowling again. The pianist smiled down at her friend. She had been fussing around the dais Shizuma was standing on to take her measurements.

"Thinking," she replied.

Chikaru nodded. "Work?" Shizuma had a representation in less than a month, her name had started going around in the profession, meaning that important people would attend, and very important people would _hear_ about it. That was certainly stress-inducing in its own right.

A smirk appeared on Chikaru's face when the woman shook her head. "Matters of the heart?"

That was a dramatic way to put it.

Shizuma shook her head again, turning around at Chikaru's indication. "Not… exactly, no."

Ever since Nagisa had broken things off, the older woman had been keeping her private life under wraps. Being free of Astrae Hill students' overbearing scrutiny, as imposed by her role as _Etoile_ , had prompted Shizuma to avoid the topic altogether. The real world was not as understanding as Astrae. Only Miyuki was relatively up to date; not because Shizuma told her. She just knew. Just like the pianist knew how Miyuki was actively working to get out of her arranged marriage. Their late-night talks and long calls had finally paid off. The price of freedom meant that Miyuki's family was going to crush her emotionally and financially, Shizuma was well aware of it. She had everything settled and ready, and she would be _here_ for her friend, the same way Miyuki had been here for her. She was not alone. She would never be.

"Not exactly?" Chikaru prompted softly, noticing how Shizuma's scowl had doubled down.

The woman cleared her throat and forced her brain to steer away from those thoughts. "Something… strange happened a couple of months ago." Almost three, to be precise. Not that Shizuma would ever admit she had been keeping tabs. "I keep thinking about it from time to time, is all."

Chikaru hummed, a pin between her lips. She took a step back, hazel eyes intensely focused on the body before them. Her mind scrolled through the variations of fabric and designs she had in mind. Something light, something chic … _Something green?_ She glanced at Shizuma's eyes briefly; they more golden today. _Emerald green._ She nodded to herself with a smirk and blinked, quickly replaying the conversation in her head.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"What strange thing?" Chikaru asked, leaning down to measure Shizuma's leg. _Train or no train?_ It would be a nice touch, if done well.

The other woman looked ahead, frowning slightly. It was Chikaru, she would figure it out one way or another, if she hadn't already. Even if the pianist chose her words carefully and made the whole thing look as innocuous as possible, she knew her friend would reach her own conclusions. Her perceptiveness definitely rivaled Shizuma's own, outrunning it by a land mile.

There was no point, she could not beat Chikaru freaking Minamoto. Emphasis on the freak.

And so, she told what had happened a little less than three months ago, keeping her voice as even and neutral as she could. Even during the exciting parts. Chikaru's eyes shined with their usual mischief, telling Shizuma she had caught on things the pianist hadn't.

"And you didn't think of asking her name when you were done?" her friend had enquired when she came back, hands filled with green fabric. "Hold this for a second, please."

The woman did as told, holding the fabric close to her face, as instructed. "No. There was no time, her train arrived." And she had been way too taken in the thing to ask for something as trivial as a name.

As expected, the fabric made Shizuma's eyes pop and change color slightly. Chikaru gave herself a pat on the back. _Perfect_ , she smiled. "Where was she headed, did you catch it?"

Shizuma sighed, giving the piece back to her friend. "South. She was going south, apparently," which wasn't saying much. It could be anywhere. There were at least five or six stops between Paris and Marseilles. She knew; she had checked.

Chikaru smiled again a little bit when the pianist resumed scowling. That encounter had had quite an impact on her friend, as much as she was trying to hide it. She wiped it off before Shizuma could see it. No need to make her feel even more exposed than she had allowed herself to be.

"Have faith!" the young woman declared, patting her arm. "You might see her again, someday."

Her communicative enthusiasm made Shizuma smile. _Maybe someday,_ if Karma was inclined.

* * *

The cosmic intervention ended up coming from the person she would have expected the least: Nagisa.

Shizuma had been discussing logistics with her freshly hired agent when her phone vibrated with a newly received message filled with emojis.

 _Hey, you must be busy with everything going on! I'm so happy for you! I stumbled on this, is that you?_

A link was attached to the text. Shizuma frowned before putting her phone down to resume her meeting. It would be rude to interrupt her agent, this could wait. It was only hours later, on her way home, that she remembered Nagisa's text and the link she had not clicked on. She took her phone out and plugged her earphones.

The camera was shaky and the angle a little off, but it was definitely her from the back, sitting on a piano bench in a train station. There was a lot of noise, the wannabe cameraman kept shushing his friends, until he walked closer, rounding the piano to catch a glimpse of her face.

" _Damn, she hot. Thought she was old!"_

" _Fuck's sake. Shut up. I can't hear the music."_

Shizuma chuckled. _Typical…_

Chopin's nocturne resonated in her ears. She remembered playing this part. And she remembered what happened just after. Her heart started beating faster, her stomach doing somersaults in her ribcage.

Three minutes and twelve seconds; a figure approached her on the left side of the screen. She saw herself turn, even pinpointed the moment of her little mishap before the violinist nodded and kneeled down.

" _Oh, they gonna play together, aren't they? They totally are!"_

The camera shook again. _"Ouch—Hey! Stop hitting me."_

" _Then, shut your mouth."_

The screen went black for a second, only rufflling sounds could be heard. She heard the piano start again, the rapid cadence of the notes. The camera refocused on her and the violinist. She could see the intense concentration on the woman's face, the way her gaze was shifting between the piano keys and Shizuma herself.

It would be lying to say that gaze wasn't doing _things_ to her, right now.

Shizuma cleared her throat.

It was a very odd experience to see the events unfolding through another perspective. She could see the exchanged smile between them, the harmony of the two instruments, the looks. She was relieving it all over again.

The music stopped, and cheers followed. The camera shook again with the applause and whistling. She only had the time to catch herself shaking the violinist's hand before the video ended.

She stared at her empty phone screen for longer than she would like to admit.

"We're here, ma'am," the taxi driver declared.

Shizuma looked up; she had completely forgotten where she was. "Thank you," she paid and left the car, still in a haze.

It took her another two hours to answer Nagisa's text.

 _Thank you very much, Nagisa. I hope you and Tamao are doing well. Yes, it is me on that video…_

Shizuma bit her lip. She didn't know how to end her message. Could she ask how the redhead had found it? Would that be okay? What if she asked and Nagisa commissioned Tamao's legendary stalker-y skills? How could she put it?

" _Hey, I've been intermittently obsessing over that girl for the past six months. Can you help?"_

No. No, no. Nope. Never. Shizuma shook her head and sighed, she was not going to do that. She was better than that. Come on.

She deleted her text and wrote another one, thanking Nagisa and wishing her the best, and yes, it was her on that video. Also; they should grab a coffee someday. She hit send.

-0-

"Miss Hanazono! Miss Hanazono, a picture, please!"

Shizuma turned around with a plastered smile before the flash blinded her. _Damn_ , she blinked a couple of time, disoriented. Now she knew why celebrities always wore sunglasses.

"Come on in," her agent ushered her inside the building. He smiled apologetically when he saw her blink and frown again. "You're a star now."

She scowled at him a little. "I would rather not," black spots were still clouding her vision.

The man shrugged, still smiling at her. He knew she did not like to be reminded of her newly acquired status. As mind-blowing as it was for him. Young musicians were either in it for the money, or the fame – if not both. Shizuma was the odd one out in his clients list, the one that came from money and did not seek fame. He thought she was putting up a front, at first, being the rebellious underdog. Everybody loves that. He thought, as time went by, she would reveal herself to be just like the others. But here they were, six months later, still doing small, confidential performances at her request, when he could book her the Vienna orchestra. Or hell, even the Bolshoï, if she asked. But Shizuma wanted none of it. She just wanted to play, the place did not matter.

And so here they were, a small, but packed concert room in Belgium.

"Ready?"

"Never." Shizuma deadpanned.

They grinned at each other. It was their little ritual before each performance.

"Woo 'em!"

And woo, she did. So much, that days later, she made it to mainstream news, in a small article soberly titled: _'Hanazono, the next Horowitz?'_ While she (kind of) understood the (broad) comparison, it made her ill-at-ease. She did not want to be the next somebody, she just wanted to be herself. Her notoriety exponentially increased, to her chagrin. Still, the attention wasn't all unwelcome, especially the female attention she was receiving. That, at least, was nice. Very.

But more than once, her mind had wandered away from the moment. Her eyes staring at the ceiling without really seeing it. Her date of the night/week/month looking at her, a blissful smile on their face before it would falter at Shizuma's continued mutism.

"What are you thinking about?"

She would blink one, twice. Reality hitting her like a bucket of ice water. She would turn her head towards them, force a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

"Nothing."

 _No one._

And she would reach for the naked body next to hers, pull it closer, kiss their lips, chin, cheeks, neck, as one of her hands wandered lower. Not giving them the time to think, to ponder, to call out her lie. They would smirk at her, but it was the wrong one. They would look back, desire shining in their eyes, but it was the wrong color. The wrong side dimple. The wrong voice moaning her name. The wrong hands touching her.

The wrong person.

On the nights Shizuma preferred her own company, she would watch the video again, sometimes. Not always. The first few times, she had hoped to catch something, a detail, a clue that would help her find the woman. But when the enterprise proved to be fruitless, she resigned to watch and enjoy it for what it was: a nice moment.

A lost opportunity.

-0-

"I'm not doing it. I refuse."

Her agent rolled his eyes. "They asked, Shizuma. Don't be rude."

They had been at it for the last hour (month, if he were to be honest about it). He'd tried easing her into it, but she was just so _stubborn_.

"I am not rude," she retorted, just as aggravated by his relentlessness. "I am declining their invitation. Politely."

He coughed, smoothing the lapels of his suit the way he always did when he was getting frustrated. It kept happening more often now, and honestly, she couldn't care less. At the end of the day, the decision was hers, they both knew it.

"Look," he tried again. "I won't force you." Shizuma scoffed. It made him smile. "But you won't get to dodge interviews much longer, you know that."

She knew. There was only so much journalists could cough up about a rising star that refused to talk to them. It wouldn't take long for the enticing mystery-shyness spell to shatter and turn into haughty aloofness. Before their words painted her into the snobbish little rich girl born with a silver spoon in her mouth and a Steinway.

The dyke with gold fingers.

Shizuma snickered despite herself. The man raised an eyebrow at her. "Nothing," she waved her hand, dismissively. "I know," she went on, resuming their conversation. "I understand your concerns. I will think about it."

He sighed in relief. Finally, she was seeing reason. "Good so we—"

"But not with them."

He gave her a pointed stare. "Fine. You choose, but it's happening."

Shizuma flashed him a disarming smile. They shook on it like little kids at a playground. "Promise."

To be fair, they did not speak of the _when_ , or so the pianist reasoned with herself. So, what if it took a whole year for her to finally give an interview? It _happened_ , that's what mattered. She couldn't be blamed for her agent's panic attacks. Nope. Not her fault (she still gave him a nice bottle of _Pétrus,_ 1982 for putting up with her).

They quizzed about her childhood, about piano, about her family, about boarding school, about her stylist, about her personality, about the Royal College, about her friends, about her life. About music. About her _love_ life. She had looked skeptically at the journalist, questioning with as much restrain as she could muster (she was a lady, mind you), the relevancy of the enquiry. Flashes of a woman she hadn't thought (much) about for a very long while swam before her eyes.

"We need to know what drives you."

Fair point.

Shizuma shrugged a little bit, and gave them a self-depreciating answer, if not generic:

"I don't really have the time to think about it."

It was true, really. What did they expect? A grand declaration of love? Bulldozing her way out of the closet?

 _Been there, done that._

No shame. Never shame. But she wasn't going to spill her guts about how her first serious girlfriend had died, how the second serious girlfriend had dumped her for a literal psycho, and how she was still intermittently obsessing over someone she met two years ago. Not to complete strangers. Not even to her friends.

Except Miyuki.

Miyuki knew. And Miyuki never judged her for it.

The journalists seemed satisfied with her answer, anyway. Or at least, polite enough to feign it. It took another three weeks for the writers to cook up an editorial with one of the most unimaginative title she had ever read: _"Elusive Hanazono."_

She could already hear Miyuki laugh about it. And Chikaru. And Nagimao. And Shion. And the whole school, up to the very top of the hill. Even the freaking sister, God rest her soul. Despite the risible title, they had done a good job in the content. Painted her as a free-spirited pianist with a volcanic touch, a polyglot who had mastered four languages down to her Japanese ancestors' dialect. A melancholic soul with a penchant for gardening.

AKA, boring.

She could live with that.

If she was going to stand out, then it would be because of her music, nothing else. She had gotten famous despite her best efforts to stay on the down-low. If people recognized her, so be it.

Maybe something good could come out it.

* * *

 **Shizuma's a bit obsessive here, isn't she? Thinking back to SP and how she was always in some kind of spotlight, I imagine she'd be fiercely protective of her private life once out of Astrae, considering everything that had happened. But I might be reaching, on that point.**

 **Sorry for the wonky pacing, I don't want to drag the story/plot since it's a small angst-free thing.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Let it be known that today is the day I completed a WIP for the first time. Champagne, everyone! Hope you enjoy.**

 **I still don't own Strawberry Panic.**

* * *

Perchance Encounter

By Hazel Liebovsky

* * *

 _Atchoo!_

Shizuma shivered and grumbled at the same time, cursing her body's immune system for giving up on her now. At least she hadn't sneezed her way through the concert, last night. Small mercies.

"Here," Miyuki's voice sounded next to the pianist before a warm paper cup appeared in front of her. "Drink up."

She sighed, thanking her friend through a congested nose and cradling the cup in her hands. "I hate my life."

Miyuki rolled her eyes. "It's just a cold, Shizuma."

"But I hate my life."

Shizuma had this unnerving ability to regress to a whiny seven-year-old every time the universe had the nerve to strike her with a bad case of flu, a cold or worse. Admittedly, it didn't happen all that often, but when it did, it _did_. Miyuki pinched the bridge of her nose, sitting down with a cup of her own. They would have to leave for the airport soon, but the café was cozy and warm, warmer than the frigorific temperatures outside. The weather was unusually chilly, even by Germans' standards.

Her coat's pocket vibrated. Miyuki forgot to keep her face in check, letting the smallest of smiles appear on her lips when she checked the ID. Her faux-pas only registered when she felt Shizuma's weighted gaze on her.

"My, my…" the pianist straightened on her seat and crossed her arms. "I didn't know you could make that kind of facial expression…" the glare she received made her smirk. "Hot date tonight?"

Miyuki's glare doubled down _. "No."_ Shizuma raised an eyebrow at her. "I said no," she let a beat. "Besides, who will take care of you, if I leave?"

"What am I? Ten?" The woman looked absolutely affronted. "I don't need a…" and sneezed right at the same time. "… Babysitter," she finished a little dejected, then waved a hand at her friend's pointed stare. "Don't you dare."

Miyuki grinned.

It took a while, thorough work on self-worth and Shizuma's gentle probing to get rid of the guilt inflicted by her family after her divorce. They had done everything in their power to make her miserable when they realized she wouldn't go through with the more than fair (according to them) deal they had offered: arranged marriage with a side piece _of her choosing_ , at the condition that she produces an heir within the next year.

That had been the last straw. One night, she just packed her things, wrote a half-assed apology to her husband – he didn't have anything to do with this mess. Maybe she could have loved him, in another life – and knocked on Shizuma's door, more upset than sad. She was now working alongside the pianist's agent, handling her public relations and image, coming full circle from their time at Miatre when she was doing exactly that.

To celebrate the finalization of her divorce, Shizuma had dragged her to a pub soberly named _Freedom_. Miyuki hadn't realized what kind of establishment it was until the other woman had sneakily disappeared 'to the bathroom' and she found herself alone at the bar for two minutes before a complete stranger struck a conversation with her because she 'looked lost'. A female stranger who kept complimenting Miyuki on her strikingly gorgeous eyes while 'accidentally' brushing her arm and wrist.

She didn't speak to Shizuma for two whole days after that disastrous night.

The pianist apologized and promised not to surprise her like that ever again, at the condition that she put herself out there. Preferably within this lifetime. The first few dates were an awkward mess. She would cringe her way through them and usually flee way before 10 pm. because of a self-imposed curfew.

It was during those times that she envied Shizuma's natural swagger and charisma. It all looked so easy when she did it, so _smooth_.

The woman didn't lay it all often, but when she did, she _did_.

The distant look on Shizuma's face when Miyuki put her phone down after answering the text was unmistakable. She had retreated back into her head, thoughts swirling, living a distant memory. Melancholy. When the woman had first told her about it, about _her,_ Miyuki hadn't realized the impact it was going to have on her friend. She didn't mention it often, but every now and then she would become deafeningly quiet and have that odd light in her eyes. It wasn't as bad as the aftermath of Kaori's death, but it happened. And the fact that she wouldn't try to do anything about it was the most frustrating of all.

They had spoken about it at length, but Shizuma, being her usual stubborn self, categorically refused to get anyone involved to find the stranger who had crept her way into her head a couple of years ago. She didn't believe in fate and thus didn't believe in forcing its hand either. Besides, she was perfectly content with her life now, or so she said.

Miyuki sighed, checking her watch. "Let's go?"

Shizuma blinked a couple of times, looking a bit out of it. "Yes."

They left the café without a second glance. Had they just turned around and looked at the table by the window on the other side…

"I feel like you don't care about me," the man said, trying his best not to break down. Despite having rehashed for days, it was still hard.

She frowned, "I do?" it felt more like a question than an affirmation, she didn't sound convincing, even to her own ears.

He shook his head, "You weren't listening just two minutes ago."

Now she was annoyed. "I was thinking. About what you were saying," another lie.

"This whole thing," he shook his head again. "It was a mistake…"

"You wanted long-distance, remember," the woman cut, leaning forward on her seat. "You practically begged me to give this relationship a chance," her hand gestured to the space between them. "To give us a chance."

This train wreck would have been over _years_ ago had she had it her way. But no, of course, it couldn't have been a clean break-up, no hard feelings, stay good but distant friends. Nope, it had to _evolve,_ become this… this thing where they made _plans_ to see each other, where they had to think everything in advance and kill all spontaneity because plane tickets and schedules didn't always match. Where he got to whine about her not making any effort to follow him all the way to fucking Germany. She had a job too, for God's sake! A good one she didn't want to quit, a family, friends, a cat… that's why she wanted to break-up. Fine, she'd have been miserable for a couple of weeks (a month, tops!), but she'd have moved on after a while. She didn't even love him _like that_.

It was nice to have someone to wake up to in the morning (before he left to freaking Deutschland whose language she didn't even know), it was comfortable. There was no real spark, they got along, and she figured if she could handle being around him for long periods of time without wanting to slit her wrists and his, then she could give this thing a chance.

She shouldn't have.

The relationship stalled, he got clingier and clingier. And as a result, she distanced herself. She was going to call it off, but then he had to go and beg and be all teary-eyed and she's not a monster, alright? She has a heart. And she felt bad, so she said yes. Because she felt bad. Not because she loved him. Because she's an idiot.

"I know what I said," his voice drew her out of her ruminations. _Great…_ she hoped he hadn't noticed her dozing off again. "But it's obvious that it's not working out."

That statement was loaded, she couldn't help it; she bit. "So, it's my fault?" He shrugged, but it was obvious that's what he meant. She rolled her eyes. "Can't believe it. You know what?" the woman stood up abruptly. "If you wanted to break up, you should have done it over the phone. It's faster and cheaper."

Booking a ticket to get dumped. She was going to remember that one forever.

She left him on the spot, hailing a taxi to the airport where she stomped her way to the airline staff to change her flight. Perks of living in Europe; she only needed her ID and the extra cash she would have otherwise spent on cheesy romantic dates this week, had it not turned into a disaster two days in. He would send her the rest of her stuff, _hopefully_.

The woman was completely deflated by the time she was queuing for security control, tired, sad, angry and PMS-ing apparently. She sighed, looking around without really seeing anything until she heard sneezing in the distance and a blur of silver hair caught her attention. It was quick, she was too far ahead, and from the back but the woman recognized her instantly; she froze.

Her feet worked on instinct, she stepped forward, but a burly man stood right in front of her, giving the woman a disapproving look.

"I… I'm not trying to…" she glanced past him, saw the other walk through security before being swallowed by the sea of travelers. She sighed and went back to the queue.

 _Just my luck._

The woman she'd been beating herself over for years, wondering why on Earth she hadn't just asked her for a name, a phone number, or hell even an e-mail address or a business card like she had wanted to, instead of blurting 'safe travel' like a socially awkward penguin, was _this_ close and still unreachable.

Her foot bounced up and down impatiently until it was finally her turn. The woman bolted out of security and began scanning the gates one by one, hoping to catch the pianist before her flight left. She ran back and forth along the gates until her own flight started boarding. Out of breath and sweaty, the woman sat down in the aircraft and sulked her way back to France.

She hadn't checked the first-class lounge because they wouldn't let her.

Just her luck indeed.

* * *

Just shy of her thirtieth birthday, Karma decided to give Shizuma one last push.

She had reached that level of stardom where people of the profession actively sought her out in a crowded reception to talk her ear off about things she really didn't care about. But, she was also getting a little bit of recognition from people outside, a hybridization the pianist could do without if it weren't for the odd little girl or boy stopping her in the streets to tell her she was their inspiration to start taking music lessons. It never failed to put a smile on her face.

Although tonight, she wasn't smiling. Her expression was threatening to slip into a scowl for the third time in fifteen minutes, but she caught herself. The reception was on the eleventh floor of a Luxembourgish building that (if you asked her) should have been destroyed last century. The interior reeked of ostensible riches, taste was definitely not the priority for the owners.

"I know you really don't want to be here," her agent spoke, deliberately slowing down when they reached the corridor that led to the lift.

"What makes you think that?" she gave him the biggest, fakest grin she could come up with when he looked at her.

He snorted, squeezing her forearm for a second, leaning to whisper in her ear. "Never change, please."

"I don't intend to."

They had developed a nice dynamic over the years. It took a little while for him to stop breathing down her neck when it came to work. He had especially loosened since Miyuki had come on board to shadow her. Nowadays, he backed most of her projects, no question asked, and let her do whatever she wanted when her schedule was clear of any obligation. In exchange, she'd indulge him in a couple of mandatory receptions and such. They didn't have to play a role around each other, the pianist had discovered he hated the game of false niceties and over-the-top complicity between agents and artists just as much as she did. She liked that.

A small group of mostly old men was already waiting for the elevator. Shizuma's expression turned neutral and guarded. Like sharks smelling blood, they turned to her in almost perfect synchronization. She really didn't like the light in their eyes.

The elevator rang, drawing the attention away from her for a second. The doors opened, allowing the group of men to fill the lift slowly. Their carnivorous smirks were giving chills to the pianist. The agent stepped inside.

"Uh," she took a step back. "I will wait for the next one," this thing didn't look sturdy enough, and the woman would be damned if she got stuck in a three-square-meter cubicle with a bunch of penguins, beer bellies, and spicy colognes.

Their leering smiles fell, her agent winked knowingly. "See you up there."

Shizuma sighed in relief. Two minutes of peace and quiet with herself before she had to go and pretend she cared about what the people up there thought about her music, pretend she didn't notice the men shamelessly peeking at her cleavage when she spoke, while their wives eviscerated her with their eyes. She let the next lift go, just because. And the three others that followed. She hated using her celebrity status as an excuse, but they could wait.

Hurried footsteps were rounding the corner behind the pianist. What finished her off was the obnoxiously loud phone call; she rolled her eyes. Miatre's teachings be damned.

"Look, I know I'm late. I'm literally in the building right now. Yes… Yes— will you chill, for a minute? No… I—What? Of course, yes! Do you really think I—" the woman stopped dead in her tracks when her eyes found Shizuma.

The frown she had been sporting upon hearing the stranger fell, replaced by bewilderment. _It's…_

"I'll see you in a few," the stranger ended the call, shoved the phone in her small purse, and gave Shizuma an awkward smile. "Sorry about that." the dimple on her cheek fluttered as she spoke and smiled.

She didn't say a word, she couldn't speak. Almost seven years later. It felt like an eternity, like a distant event from another life, like a scene she'd have seen in a movie some time ago. Yet, it all came rushing back, stifling the words on the tip of her tongue.

When the silence stretched into awkward territory, the stranger cleared her throat and stood next to her to press the call button. She looked up and pretended to be wholly absorbed by the descending numbers.

Shizuma wanted to scream.

No, scratch that.

She wanted to disappear into a hole.

Her mind replayed the scene, running different scenarios in which she'd open her damn mouth and freaking speak to the woman who had wormed her way into her mind ever since they met in that train station. And now she'd just ruined everything because her brain decided she was selectively mute. That woman probably thought she was a diva.

They stepped in the small cubicle in complete silence, still standing close to each other. Shizuma looked down; this was going to be a torturous journey. _You're an idiot. Stupid, idiot and mute._

Halfway up, the elevator growled tiredly, before stopping altogether. They both yelped in surprise. The lights went out for two seconds before coming up and then out again. By instinct, Shizuma's right hand shot to grab the other woman and steady her. She felt the cool touch of another hand on hers when the elevator became still.

"Thanks," she squeezed, letting Shizuma release her. "You must be kidding me," the woman mumbled afterward, stepping forward to reach blindly for the pad. It was silent for a bit while she fumbled with the buttons, until she remembered the other person in with her, "I hope you're not claustrophobic. Are you claustrophobic?" she asked, a little alarmed.

"I… I don't think so," there. Words. She could do it. Words, easy. "I am not," she said with more assurance.

"Good. Less chance to pass out," only now did she recall the phone in her purse. Squinting when the flashlight blinded her before she directed it at the tab to find the emergency button and press a few moments before the battery decided to die on her. Just her luck. "We'll be okay."

Hearing that girl speak English after having only exchanged words in French was a curious experience, it felt like she was talking to a completely different person.

The screeching alarm resonated in the elevator, making the two women wince. To their credit, the company answered within ten minutes, urging both of them to please remain calm and do breathing exercises (they scoffed); an expert would be there shortly.

"Define shortly," the violinist asked.

"Erm…" he was hesitating, that was a bad sign. "Within two hours? Probably."

The woman blinked at the pad. "Thanks," she said through gritted teeth, remembering the other person in there with her. Getting angry wasn't going to get them out any faster, as relieving as it would be to go ballistic on his ass.

"I'm sorry ma'am," he tried.

The woman sighed. "I'm sure you are," it was less biting than the insults she had in mind, but it was something. "Thank you, anyway."

He left them when she assured they didn't need him staying on the line. Once again, the elevator was plunged into silence and darkness.

"So…"

"So…" the pianist answered, just as flatly.

"Come here often?" Shizuma could picture the grin on her face. A mix of awkward and bold. She couldn't help but chuckle. "What?" the woman sounded falsely offended. "Not smooth enough for you?"

They laughed together. "I assume you are here for the reception as well?"

The violinist nodded then remembered they were in complete darkness and spoke. "Yes. Yeah."

"Are you an agent?" Shizuma continued her query. An agent that was also a musician? What a strange combination.

"No," she said. "No way. Do I look like one?" she was silent for a little bit. "Wait, you can't see me. Nevermind," she chuckled awkwardly.

 _Oh, but I can._ By now, Shizuma had seen the video enough times to conjure a mental image. Granted it was seven years old, from the glimpses she'd caught before they got themselves into this situation, the violinist hadn't changed much.

"Plus one."

Two words; that's all it took for her world to crash and burn. "Oh…"

"How about you?" the woman asked, utterly oblivious to what she had just done. And she even had the nerve to smile!

"Work duties."

If she'd noticed the disgruntled way Shizuma had answered, she made no mention of it. Probably thought it was because those receptions were as dull as they sounded, and she wouldn't be too far off. The reception was part of her irritation. The other part was curled into a ball crying in a corner in Shizuma's head. They said nothing for a long while, one too busy licking her wounds; _Rule number one: never go for the straight girl_ , while the other was just standing there.

"Okay, that's it."

Shizuma heard her sigh and move then flop on the floor. She glanced down with a frown. "What are you doing?"

"Getting comfortable," there was a zipping sound. "We're stuck here for a while, anyway. Might as well."

 _She has a point_. The pianist shrugged and removed her shoes, dropping a good twelve centimeters in the process. She sat down, stretched her legs and felt marginally better if the content sigh coming out of her mouth was any indication.

"Same," the other woman said.

Her lips twitched despite her best efforts to remain as sullen as possible. The other wouldn't notice, of course, but for Shizuma, it was suddenly very important. The pianist grabbed the purse nearby to check her phone, on the off chance she'd have any signal to warn her agent. No such luck; she tsked.

"Your boyfriend must probably be worried."

 _Woops._ She hadn't meant to say that out loud. An unnecessarily petty thought buzzing about in her head that should have stayed there. At least, she had reigned on the snark.

"My what, now?" the violinist snorted. It took a second for her to remember what had prompted the declaration. "I'm the plus one, it doesn't mean we're dating. It's more of a mutual agreement that benefits us both…." she trailed off. "I came here to find someone."

And that was enough to pick Shizuma's interest all the way back from the limbo. Pathetically so.

 _Do you remember?_

The question was burning her mouth. Was it a hint, an allusion?

"Hopefully they will still be there once we get out of here…" if Shizuma was good at something (besides the many, _many_ things she was very good at) it was shooting herself in the foot.

She had pushed Nagisa away when the girl showed genuine interest because she was scared. She had encouraged her to run for the _Etoile_ election - and right in Tamao's arms - because she was terrified of what she felt and what it meant. Letting go of Kaori who had been such a big part of herself for so long. That she was allowed to cherish her memory without carrying her burden. It had taken almost losing Nagisa at the election to realize it.

More than a decade later, Shizuma still hadn't learned from her mistakes. Self-sabotage was a second nature. The pianist scowled, only blinking out of it when the other woman hummed before replying.

"It's no one special, really," that answered her question: she didn't remember _._ "I was hoping to get a musician to do a little stint for me at work."

"At work?"

"Yeah. I'm a teacher," she was beaming, the pianist could hear it in her voice. "At the conservatory of Nice."

Shizuma had assumed the violinist to be a soloist or part of some orchestra, somewhere. This revelation was puzzling. It felt like a waste of skill. _And at such a young age…_

"Unusual, right?" she had seen right through the pianist's silence.

"Ah," Shizuma felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Thank God for the dark. "I did not mean to… I'm not judging."

She laughed. "Relax," and patted around the pianist's leg. "You're not the first one to react like that," she was silent for a while. When people asked, she usually kept it at that, but something was prompting her to continue; not to justify her decision. She just felt like it. Comfortable. "I was a solo for a while, actually…"

Once, her little sister had asked her about the glamorous life of a super performer. She had scoffed at the word, racking her brain for an answer and came out blank. She could tell her about airports; Narita had the longest walk from the baggage claim to the taxis outside. Schiphol's had chaises-longues facing the tarmac where she would lie down to watch planes take-off while waiting for hers. Roissy had ready-to-play PS4 consoles… she could tell her about the hotels. She could tell her about the orchestras, how some conductors would infantilize her and question her decisions because _of course_. A nineteen-year-old prodigy being looked down by a bunch of old farts taking their frustration on her.

None of it could be qualified as glamorous.

It went on for years. One day, she had had enough and quit.

"… wasn't for me, I guess," wasn't worth getting an ulcer for; that's how the violinist rationalized it.

"I understand," Shizuma said, there was a certain kinship between them. Those weren't shallow words of comfort. She _did_ understand.

"I'm sure," she spoke softly. "Hey," her voice got suddenly louder. It resonated in the cubicle, making her wince. "Would you like to do it?"

A very small, very immature part of Shizuma snickered. _Do it. Why yes, of course._ "Do what?" her adult-self enquired.

"Show up at the conservatory for a small Masterclass? The kids would love it!"

The pianist frowned. "I'm not a teacher," she knew music, but passing on its knowledge was a wholly different matter.

"That's the point," the violinist countered. "Look: the kids, they need a tangible experience of what it's like out there. I've told them what I know, but I'm the teacher. They need to hear it from someone else. Someone they look up to."

 _Someone they look up to…_ the epiphany came in the form of five words.

Shizuma couldn't believe she had been so _dense_! It wasn't like her. At all.

"You know who I am," it wasn't a question, not even an accusation. A fact, plain and simple.

There was a sigh followed by a long pause. "Yes."

She turned toward the violinist. "Did you come here to seek me out specifically?" the question was loaded. _What do you want from me?_

"No," quick and honest. "I… I had no idea you would be here." _Nothing._ "Forget I said anything, I'm just…" she sounded so dejected, suddenly. _I'm just stupid_ is what she wanted to say. Scream, in fact.

Another wasted opportunity just like at the airport all those years ago. And it was all on her this time. Everything was going so well. _I've got to learn to shut up sometimes._

"I will do it."

"W-what?"

"I will do it," Shizuma repeated, with more assurance. It meant they would have to meet again, she didn't mind the idea. In fact, she liked it very much.

"You're sure?" the woman had no idea what had motivated the change of heart.

"Yes," her eyes dropped to the purse again. "I would have to arrange something with my schedule," Miyuki would find a way to make it happen, she always did.

"Ah," there was that smile again. "Whenever you're free. No rush," a content sigh followed. "If you're coming, then my job here is done. As soon as we leave this elevator, I'm out."

 _Lucky you…_ the pianist's smile was bitter. "What will you do?"

She heard fussing, the violinist must have been leaning on the wall instead of lying down. Her voice was much closer when she spoke. It put Shizuma's senses in overdrive.

"Go back to my hotel, change into something I can breathe in…" she trailed off, thinking. "Raid the room service and watch some junk TV."

"Sounds lovely," Shizuma said in all honesty. A perfect lazy night.

"You're welcome to join if you want."

It was obviously innocuous, meant in jest. The pianist took the bait, pushing her luck a little.

"Is that an invitation?" teasing. A bit of harmless flirting doesn't hurt.

"What if it is?"

That was enough to shut her up. Shizuma wished she could see the other's face, get a clue.

"Are you flirting with me?" she decided to be blunt, it was the next best thing to reading facial expressions.

"What if I am?"

 _Oh…_ things were getting interesting now. But an alarm was blaring in her head. Guarded, careful. Shizuma remained silent for a whole minute, pondering the situation, choosing her words with care:

"I'm not some exotic experiment."

There. Short and to the point. _Are you straight?_

"Never said you would be."

 _Nope._

The air became charged, stifled with the implications of their conversation. The cubicle was suddenly a lot smaller. The distance between their bodies greater than it actually was. Deeper breaths and decupled senses. Shizuma was certain that she could hear the violinist's heartbeat if she focused enough. Her body instinctively tensed when she felt the furtive touch of fingers on her hand between them. Barely there, it could have passed as an accident, deliberately unintentional. A tacit question.

 _Is this okay?_

Shizuma turned her hand, fingers loosely interlaced with the violinist, thumb drawing circles on her knuckles. _Yes. Yes, it is._

She felt hot and cold at the same time. If she turned her head a little, they would be close enough to kiss maybe an—"

The elevator growled back to life tiredly. They both scoffed, shared a look and chuckled, blinking the black spots away when the lights came back on. The lift descended, prompting the violinist to pull away, stand up to rearrange her outfit and put on her shoes. Shizuma did the same.

Absolutely nothing had happened, yet they looked _thoroughly_ guilty when the doors opened on the expert. Red-faced and all.

"I'm sorry we took so long," the man said with an awkward smile, completely oblivious, or feigning not to notice. "These things are so old, it's a torture to fix."

Shizuma didn't trust her mouth, she simply nodded. Her head was still swimming in what could have happened had they not been interrupted. Amazing timing, as always.

The other woman cleared her throat. "Thank you."

"I can send you back up," he offered. The grimace on the violinist's face made him reconsider. "Or you could take the stairs… you did spend a couple of hours in there, after all," he chuckled in embarrassment.

They walked back into the corridor, close but not touching. The violinist slowed down when they reached the stairs, casting fleeting looks at the other before stopping at the door. Shizuma didn't want to overthink this, her phone was already screaming with notifications and text messages. She should go upstairs. Duty calls.

 _But…_

She had already lost once, she wasn't going to waste another chance. So she did what felt right. What she wanted. The pianist turned around, grabbed her hand and fast walked to the exit with the biggest grin on her face.

-0-

They did exactly what the violinist said she would do. And Shizuma didn't mind it one bit. Isis, as it turns out was her name (finally!), had given her an extra-large t-shirt to change from the very nice dress she'd worn for the aborted reception. They were both starving by the time they reached the hotel and ordered way too much from room service. The TV ended up forgotten, a background noise to their discussion that carried well into the night and outrageously early in the morning. It only stopped when their words turned into a slurred mess of sounds.

It was one of the best nights of Shizuma's life.

"Why didn't you say anything, then?" she asked around a sip of coffee. It was close to ten, they hadn't slept a wink, yet she couldn't bring herself to care. She was _beaming._

Isis shrugged, tearing a warm pain au chocolat apart with her fingers. "What did you want me to say? Hey, remember me from eons ago? Nope? Okay, bye."

The pianist giggled. "When you put it like that…" besides she could have said something too, instead of beating around the bush like an awkward teenager.

Her phone beeped, interrupting the quiet moment, she grabbed it, sighing theatrically when she realized it was Miyuki again. The woman had left her relatively alone last night, after Shizuma had texted her that she was _busy_ (even though they hadn't done anything yesterday, except for a small, chaste kiss and cuddles when it became too hard to speak), along with some vague details about being stuck in a lift. But the reprieve was short-lived. The real world was calling, and it wasn't really happy with her right now."

"I have to take this," she smiled apologetically before walking to the balcony.

Isis was exactly where she had left her. The smile she gave her made Shizuma's inside turn into mush. She could get used to that… "Bad news?"

"Bad news," the pianist conceded, throwing her phone on the bed carelessly. "My flight is tonight," a shudder ran through her body when she remembered Miyuki's stern command. _Come back. Quick._

Her friend had managed to do some damage control, cooked up an excuse about how of a traumatizing experience it had been to spend hours stuck in an elevator, which explained why Shizuma was missing at the reception. Apparently, guests had eaten it up and her email was now flooding with 'get well soon' messages and apologies.

Miyuki was the best. Shizuma made a mental note to give her a raise.

"Ah," Isis' shoulders sagged a little bit. "Can't be helped I guess…" she kept on a brave face, but the smile wasn't reaching her eyes anymore.

Shizuma blinked.

 _It can't be over so soon._

She was in front of the violinist with three big steps, turning the chair around so that she could crouch in front of Isis, arms crossed on the woman's lap with a very intense look on her face. "I want to see you again." _Not in seven years._ When the other did was stare at her dumbly, Shizuma backpedaled. "… If you would like."

Talk about being passionate. She thought she had emptied all out after that very public love confession during the _Etoile_ election. Isis was still mute. The pianist was beginning to freak out internally, thinking of a way to quietly leave the room and pretend she hadn't just ruined everything with her overzealousness.

"I…"

Isis blinked a couple of times, getting out of her funk. This was crazy. This was absolutely crazy. A stranger she'd played with seven years ago. The same stranger she had spent the night and better part of the morning talking about each other's life, mundane things and whatnot like they had known each other for decades. The same woman who she had thought about all this time but never had the guts to seek, because what were the chances?

This was crazy.

"I'd like that," she finally said, a big dimpled grin on her face. "I'd like that very much."

Shizuma beamed.

-0-

They made it work, somehow.

It wasn't always easy. Compromises were made, long talks were had. They couldn't see each other all that much the first year, but the genuine joy and delight of those stolen moments were worth the weeks (and sometimes months) apart. Planning ahead wasn't such a chore anymore, and spontaneity didn't take a backseat.

Isis said I love you first, and it stole Shizuma's breath away.

She didn't leave her job, Shizuma never asked her to. When she took fewer classes, demanded flexible hours, it was her decision, for them. The pianist was deeply humbled that Isis would do something like that for her sake.

When they decided to move in together, two years later, although they hadn't broached the subject, there had been no doubt about the location in Shizuma's mind: somewhere close to the violinist's workplace. The pianist had no issues uprooting herself from London, she had said as much. Isis was moved to tears and actually cried, though she would deny it later.

They made it work.

And no matter their personal feelings towards crowded train stations, there would always be a certain tenderness every time they found themselves there, walking by a piano hand in hand, and sharing a secret smile. Or waiting for one another on a platform, eyes shining with emotions.

* * *

 **Aaand last but not least :) three different pov's in one chapter, sorry about that. I wanted to give Miyuki some closure, it was a last-minute decision.**

 **IT WAS SO FUN TO WRITE. Hope you enjoyed as much as I did. Totally self-indulgent. Sorry for the little angst in the elevator :) can't seem to get away from it.**

 **Comments? Ideas? Sequel (lol)? Drop a line, let me know.**


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